


Bad Day

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bad Days, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10109219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Sam has a bad day and Steve makes it better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Post no-good-very-bad-day cuddles."

_Stuck in commuter hell. Can you do dinner?_

Sam watches his phone attempt to send the text, then re-attempt, and die halfway through the third attempt. Steve's either going to have no clue where he is, or he's going to get a half-dozen notifications for the same message. Or he'll get all the messages an hour after Sam gets home. 

Which, well, fuck it, Sam decides and puts his phone in his pocket and waits for the next subway train. And waits. There's a lot of waiting, and a lot of standing around, feeling hot and sticky and tired, and that's when Sam starts compiling lists in his head. 

The first list is of things he wants to get done over the weekend, but it starts and ends at _sleep_. Also, it's only Thursday, and the weekend still feels far enough away that making plans for it is still a wistful practice. 

And, god, he's exhausted. Sam rubs both hands over his face and checks his watch. By the time he gets home, twelve hours will probably have passed since he left that morning. The thought's too depressing to ponder, so he goes back to lists. 

Annoying things that happened at work proves to be both too long and too frustrating, so that, like the previous one, starts and ends with one entry: _everything_. 

Pushing thoughts of work aside, Sam thinks about Steve for a while. He'd been asleep when Sam left that morning, or, no, half-asleep, because he did that stupid thing where he half-wakes up and attempts to have a conversation with Sam while Sam gets dressed, but nothing he says makes sense and he ends up dozing off in the middle of the conversation. 

That's a nice thought. Between the humidity and the exhaust fumes and the press of people around him, Sam thinks about Steve and smiles to himself. Yeah, that's not bad. By the time his train arrives and he can sit down, he's got a list of things he wants when he finally gets home from work:

1\. Beer. Cold.  
2\. Another beer.  
3\. Steve. 

He reorders the list a few times in his mind and that's enough to get Sam through the rest of the hellscape that is his commute home. 

*

"Hey. I got your text. Texts," Steve says as he opens the door for Sam. He looks sort of shower-damp and tired, which probably means he's just back from a long run. "Did you miss me? You missed me. You sent me about a dozen texts." 

"Three," Sam says. He shakes his head, but turns to kiss Steve quickly. He smells a little soapy, pleasant and familiar. 

"Yeah, you missed me. Here, let me," he adds when Sam starts to unbutton his shirt. "Work was awful?"

"Pretty awful. Mostly awful. Power went out, there's a funding debacle happening at this very moment, and there might've been some shouting." 

"By you or at you?" 

"I'm a trained professional. What are you saying?"

"Both, then, okay. That's a bad day." 

Sam makes a move to push Steve away, but relents when Steve slips his hands, cool and gentle, under Sam's unbuttoned shirt. He strokes his thumbs over the ridge of Sam's collarbones and leans in to kiss Sam once, then again, and then a third time, slow and deep and sweet. "I missed you, too." 

He draws Sam over to the sofa, and tugs him down to pull Sam against his chest, asks him if he wants to talk about his day, gives him pizza and beer for dinner. But it's the way he puts his arms around Sam, like the world outside doesn't matter any more, like it's only the two of them against the world, like he'd hold Sam like that forever if he could. 

Sam sinks into the feeling; he's drained, but exhaustion isn't the only thing that draws him into the warm circle of Steve's arms. They can't protect each other from most of the dangers of the world, but see, Steve would try. He would, and that means more than anything else to Sam. 

When Steve gets up to get them both another drink and then drops down next to Sam on the sofa, Sam gives him a curious look. 

"Is there a good reason you're wandering around in only boxers and one of my tee shirts?" Sam asks, and, seriously, did he really just notice Steve's not only wearing one of his shirts, but probably the oldest, softest grey v-neck he owns and that he only wears to sleep. 

"Laundry." Steve shrugs. "We're really getting... oh," he stops when Sam slips two fingers into the vee of the shirt and tugs him closer. 

"Okay, you got a _better_ reason?" 

Steve leans in with a smile, leans in closer, and brushes his mouth over Sam's. "The best..."


End file.
